


Intolerable Conditions

by Deannie



Series: Comfort and Joy and Zombies [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sleep Deprivation, Voodoo, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who in their right mind built a curse to kill a man and turn him into a zombie the moment he fell asleep? Inelegant didn't begin to describe it. Honestly, you might as well just strike him dead on the spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intolerable Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_b_rackham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/gifts).



> Bess asked for: Dean gets a virus that means he cannot fall asleep or he dies. No matter how tired, nonfunctional, etc, he may be... (Bonus points if getting him cured involves Bela in literally any fashion. Double bonus points if this all happens on Christmas Eve because why not.)
> 
> So I get double points, right?! Do I lose points because it's not a virus?

"Just don't let him sleep."

Sam WInchester’s voice was tense and worried over the phone line, and Bela rolled her eyes at the completely unnecessary warning. "Yes, obviously." She looked at the man tied to the chair in the middle of the room. "I have done this before, you know?" Well, not quite this, but close. "A bit of haste on your part, please. Time is wasting."

"I'll be there in about half an hour."

She looked at the tied man again, at the way his head lolled. Half an hour might not be soon enough.

"You still have the bokor's bowl, as we discussed?" She wasn't just going to do this for nothing, was she?

"I have it—and the other things you asked for. You better not be playing us, Bela," he warned.

"Come now, Sam," she said, hanging up on him before she finished speaking. "I'm always playing you."

She turned fully to the chair in the middle of the room, where the man's chin was just about at his chest.

"Maybe not this time," she sighed with an annoying pang of concern or guilt or something. She took the captive by the hair so she could see his eyes, open to mere slits.

And then she slapped him.

"What the hell!?" Dean Winchester spluttered, shaking his head and glaring up at her. "What was that for?"

"Just keeping up my end of the bargain, darling," Bela told him. She looked past him to the table in the corner where a number of ingredients were already assembled. When she looked back, Dean had already started to droop again. She smacked him lightly on the head, glad she'd tied him to the chair to make sure he didn't fall out.

"Stop it!" he barked, almost sounding himself. He blinked and then opened his eyes wide. "God, I feel like a zombie."

"Well that's what we're trying to prevent now, isn't it?" She walked to the table and began assembling the cure. Such a stupid little curse, but powerful. And damned hard to break.

Who in their right mind built a curse to kill a man and turn him into a zombie the moment he fell asleep? Inelegant didn't begin to describe it. Honestly, you might as well just strike him dead on the spot.

"When's Sam getting back?" Dean asked, sounding strung out and rough, but fighting. Lord, that was the cutest thing about the Winchester boys. They were always fighting. "How long has it been? Feel like I've been awake for a week."

"Nearly," she answered. Perhaps she should keep him talking at this point. If he went zom, she'd be left with nothing.

And she might actually miss him.

"It's Christmas Eve," she told him, looking out the window at the bustling New Orleans street below them. There were still six hours til midnight and people seemed determined to spend each and every one of them shopping. "Five days now since you were cursed."

"Christmas Eve?" Dean tipped his head back, his voice flat and exhausted. "Awesome. Merry Christmas."

He really was going to fall asleep any moment now, and then it would all be over but the tedious execution of the undead. Coffee had finally become useless yesterday and slaps to the head—no matter how enjoyable—probably wouldn't work for much longer either. This was really intolerable.

"Surely not your worst Christmas ever, though?" she asked, trying to prod him into a response. She did have a perverse curiosity about what hunters like Sam and Dean did for Christmas.

"Ah, no," he whispered, clearly fighting to think. "Spent one held captive by a nest of vampires. They wanted the egg nog second hand, I guess."

"Really?" she said, not really listening. "Sounds lovely."

"Killed 'em all," he announced unsteadily. "Missed Christmas morning, though."

”Do you _do_ Christmas morning?” she asked, measuring the taro.

When he didn’t reply, she turned to see him almost asleep again. She strode toward him, her anger rising. "Oh no, now you stay awake, Dean Winchester!" she called loudly. "I won't have you ruining my Christmas by making me shoot you in the head."

"Syourfaultanyway," he slurred. The jumbled words stopped her cold. She flashed back on the moment Dean shoved her to the side as the gris-gris meant for her hit his face, the curse in powdered form exploding around him like a cloud.

"Yes, Dean, it is. All right?" She crouched down in front of him and gripped his knees tightly, thrusting her thumb into the nerve bundle at the side of each kneecap to try to keep him with her. "I admit it. Now please do me the favor of not dying because you were worried enough to follow me to the meeting with that bokor."

"Wasn't worried about you," he told her muddily. "Bowl's too powerful. Knew you'd sell it to him anyway."

He didn't have to make it sound so odious. LeRoy Dagobert wasn't just an accomplished priest of dark voodoo, he was absolutely filthy rich. She'd have made a killing on that deal if her favorite little hunters hadn't made their appearance.

And now she'd had to spend the last five days learning about the curse and gathering supplies to reverse the spell, while trying to keep Dean from falling asleep and turning into the zombie he was beginning to look and act like more and more. It was hardly worth the effort.

Except that Sam now had the bowl, and offering to help Dean gave her leverage. Well, really, he wasn't too bad, as hunters went.

"Wheressam?" Dean's voice was failing, along with the rest of him. If Sam didn't arrive soon...

"He's nearly here," she told him, surprised by her own fervency. "Just stay awake a little longer."

The door to the hotel room chose that moment to bang open, and Sam Winchester stood there like some shaggy great knight in flannel armor.

Bela took a deep breath and stood up while Dean rallied slightly to greet his brother. She relieved the younger Winchester of the bundles of herbs and the dirt from the grave of a voodoo queen and headed for the table.

"Oh Sam?" she called sweetly. "The bowl, please?"

Sam took a long look at his brother and then pegged her with a furious glare.

"Time's wasting, my dear," she said, gesturing to Dean, who was so clearly reaching the end of his rope she was surprised he hadn’t turned already. "Come now, using the bowl of a bokor will only increase the likelihood of saving your brother, wouldn't you say?"

He handed it over warily, and she turned to the table, hiding her grin. Like taking candy from a baby.

******

Bela sighed in contentment as the bells of St. Louis church rang out through the French Quarter, signaling the end of Midnight Mass. She patted the bowl that was wrapped carefully and tucked in her overcoat.

"Happy Christmas to me," she murmured smugly.

Her phone buzzed and she looked at it as the crowds poured out into the square, all headed home to wait for Christmas morning.

Sam's phone number. She expected he had quite the headache, which would understandably make him cranky. And she could hardly be expected to deal with cranky on Christmas Day, could she?

How lucky that he'd brought her the makings of a rather tidy little stunning spell as well as the means to finally let Dean sleep safely. He'd likely do so for hours, missing another Christmas morning and probably most of Boxing Day as well, but none the worse for wear after that.

Bela pocketed her phone and milled her way into the crowd. Certainly not his worst Christmas ever. And definitely not hers.

Her phone buzzed again, and a different number, with far more lucrative possibilities, appeared. She grinned and connected the call.

”Mistress Christiane,” she purred sweetly, thinking that surely the boys wouldn’t fault her for selling the bowl to a powerful voodoo queen like this one. “It’s so lovely to hear from you.” She laid a careful hand on the bulge in her coat as she disappeared into the night.

“I believe I’ve found you the perfect Christmas present.”

********  
the end

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of (hopefully) 24 ficlets (500 word minimum) featuring zombies, with or without winter holiday references (Hannukah, Kwanza, etc, gratefully accepted as possibilities). If you want to suggest a ficlet prompt, check this entry of mine: http://deannie.dreamwidth.org/11597.html or leave a comment on any fic in the series. (Obviously, that offer only extends until December 24th, 2015, and I reserve the right to have life intervene.


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